Home Early
by Hyaci
Summary: Divorce proceedings with Ron inevitably lead to confessions to a certain green-eyed boy...


Hey there! It's Hyaci here! This is a post-epilogue one-shot, something I've always wanted to try. I hope you guys like it!

* * *

She apparated onto her doorstep, and quickly began to fumble with her keys. It was raining extremely hard, and she had no desire to catch pneumonia. With one last glare at the pouring sky, she turned the key in the lock, and hurried inside her house, to the warmth, dryness, and comfort that existed there, awaiting her return.

The first things she saw were her children- the children she had taken the day off to spend time with- sitting on the couch, their eyes mesmerized by a television set that hadn't been there this morning. At the sight, she frowned. She had made it abundantly clear to her husband that she didn't believe in television- that she felt that quality family time should never be substituted with pointless entertainment. When Ron had lost his job, she had fully expected him to spend time with the children before he found work again.

In fact, up till that moment, that was what she truly believed he was doing.

"Hugo," she asked gently. "Where's your father?"

"Huh?" he asked, paying more attention to the television set than he was to her. This was precisely why she disliked exposing her children to television- it could potentially turn them into mindless zombies. The process was already beginning.

She shook her head, and stood. Whipping out her wand, she vanished the set, causing both children to groan.

"Mo-om!" Rose whined.

"Not a word," she warned as she made her way up the stairs. "Go do something intellectually stimulating- reading, for instance."

At the top of the staircase, she heard the sound of splashing. So he was taking a bath?

Deciding to surprise him, she walked over to the bathroom door, and opened it quietly. A small smile graced her face; it had been a while since she had been able to talk to her husband, since they had both been so busy.

"Ron?" she asked, in a come-hither voice she and Ginny had spent weeks perfecting together. She still remembered that time- she and Ron had just gotten married, and she was still madly in love with him. Now, the affection had cooled considerably (she hoped to revive it), though she liked to think some degree of it was still there.

"H-Hermione?" he sputtered. And she could see why- there, in the bathtub with him, was his ex-girlfriend, Lavender Brown.

"Ron," she said flatly. Gone was the girly tone, and now her voice was cold, steely, and utterly devoid of emotion. It was funny to her that she felt nothing- not embarrassment, not sadness, and not surprise. It was as if she was expecting this- or she didn't care.

"I-I can explain," he said, rising, his genitals inadvertently rubbing in Lavender's face. Hermione found herself so unaffected that a laugh was rising deep within her chest. She quickly stifled that- it would be unseemly to laugh in the face of such a blatant display of infidelity.

"No," she replied coolly, "there's really no need. You two carry on."

As she closed the door, she heard Lavender's derisive voice make a cutting remark.

"She's a cold, frigid bitch, isn't she?"

* * *

"What's this?" Ron demanded, throwing the manila folder onto her desk.

Hermione closed her eyes in irritation, mentally preparing herself for the argument that inevitably lay ahead. She leaned forward, and steepled her fingers, before once again opening her eyes, and meeting the blue ones that stared down at her from above, filled with anger and sadness… but no remorse.

"They're divorce proceedings," Hermione answered mechanically. "I really don't understand why you would want to stay in a sham marriage. I certainly don't."

"Obviously!" he spat. Hermione blinked, before wiping the spittle from her face and shooting her husband a disgusted look. "Don't you understand?" he shouted.

"What is there to understand?" she returned.

"It didn't mean anything," he answered. "I was just… satisfying my needs!"

"Why would it have to mean anything?" Hermione asked, puzzled. "Ron, infidelity is infidelity, whether or not it means anything." She returned her attention to her work. "In any case, I no longer have any feelings for-"

"It was just a fling!" he roared. "What part of that don't you get?" He reached down, and pushed all her belongings off her desk, as if to demonstrate his frustration.

"Ronald Weasley, stop it!" She stood up furiously. "It is one thing to discuss this like civil human beings, and it is quite another to cause needless destruction! To my desk and my work, no less!"

Smack!

"You did not just slap me," Hermione sputtered furiously, bringing a hand to gingerly touch her reddened cheek.

Ron looked conflicted. "I- no- Hermione, I didn't mean to!" he pleaded.

She glared at him murderously, before grabbing her purse and her wand. "Ronald Weasley," Hermione's voice was cold and lifeless. "This settles it. If I wasn't going to leave you before, I certainly am now." Grabbing a handful of floo powder, she ran into her fireplace.

"Good day, Ronald," she said venomously, and in a poof of green smoke, she was gone.

* * *

Hermione stood in Harry's fireplace, covered in soot and floo powder. It was the first place she thought of, for although her friendship with Harry was undoubtedly weaker than it once was, he was still the closest friend that she had.

Why did she come here? She admonished herself for the obvious lack of logic and reason that had led her to his home.

Harry had obviously heard Hermione's entrance, for he soon came rushing through the door, untying the apron he was wearing. There was some flour on his nose, which clued her in to the fact that he had been cooking. Belatedly, she remembered that it was Ginny's birthday. A pang of jealousy flashed through her at that- Ron had never been thoughtful enough to buy her a cake, let alone bake one.

"Hermione!" Harry's voice was warm and welcoming, demonstrating just how close his relationship was with his friend despite their limited contact. "How are you? I wasn't expecting you, must've missed your owl-"

"No," Hermione said, her voice high and shrill, making it quite clear to Harry that she was rather upset. "I wasn't planning on coming, but there were a few… incidents at work."

"Incidents?" Harry asked, intrigued.

"Ron," she answered. "I'm leaving him."

Harry's face took on a look of compassion. "Did he screw up again, Hermione? What did he do this time?"

"I sent him the divorce proceedings," Hermione continued on in an angry tone as though Harry hadn't spoken. "He didn't take it very well."

"He's always been a jealous, possessive arse," Harry reasoned calmly. "Anyway, whatever he's done, I'm sure you two can work it out-"

"No, it's been coming for a while," she said. "I'm just angry because he brought his bull shit to my work, expected me to buy it, and then slapped me."

The beautiful, green, almond shaped eyes sparked in outrage. Harry's fist landed on the countertop with a large bang. He set his jaw, and a determined look spread over his face. She noted, with some concern, that his entire body shook, filled with righteous anger. His hero complex was acting up again, she decided.

"He hit you?" Harry questioned her stonily.

She rolled her eyes in exasperation, before dusting some of the soot off of her face, to reveal the handprint that was still warm and visible on her skin, though nearly faded.

"The rat bastard," Harry fumed angrily, clenching his hands into fists. "I'm going to kick his arse-"

"Oh good," Hermione said, her voice full with drippy sarcasm and cynicism. "Mind giving me front row seats?"

"With pleasure," her friend answered darkly. He made an abstract gesture with one of his arms, as if articulation was beyond him. "Hermione, hand me some of that floo powder-"

"You're not going to go," she said, her voice imbued with a finality that he seemed to reluctantly accept. "You don't need an assault and battery charge marring your perfect record, Harry."

He sighed, and pulled himself up, seating himself on the counter. After a few moments of silence, his voice rose again, cutting through the quiet like a butter knife. "You want to talk about it?" he offered, his eyes staring at her, boring into her soul- and, she liked to fancy, imploring her to share her thoughts and opinions, her life with him as freely as she did when they were at school together. Be best friends again.

Hermione could not find it within her to refuse him, and deciding to chance everything, she began the unabridged narrative of her life.

"Since," she smiled in fond retrospection, her normally strident voice a soft, delicate, cooing whisper that was almost lost in the cool morning breeze, "since forever, I've felt…"


End file.
